Memory of a Fallen Angel
by Shadowmage11
Summary: The bad guys have fled or died and all is right with the world, but difficult and confusing memories still haunt Harry Dresden.


_Disclaimer: Characters from the Dresden Files belong to Jim Butcher. Not me._

**Memory of a Fallen Angel**

_I enjoyed interacting with you as one person to another._

I jumped as the freezing water pounded into my skin. Most people wait for the shower water to heat up before stepping in, but that is impossible for me. Water heaters (technology in general really) disagreed with me. All of my water heaters in the past had exploded within a week. One would think I'd be use to these shower by now, but this particular icy cold shower hit me harder then usual.

After all, it was the first freezing shower I've had in years.

_Does it not feel soothing? Does it not ease the tension?_

The actual process of cleaning numbed my mind for a moment, but my thoughts began to wander as soon as I stepped out from under the torrent. Memories are powerful things – they're triggers to your human emotions.

Huh, human emotions. It sounds so exclusive. Other beings of the world felt emotions too. For example, I'm pretty sure fallen angels felt emotions. Well, shadows of fallen angels at any rate.

_I admire your will. Your defiance._

The sound of a delighted laugh, a genuine laugh, startled me as I took a seat. The surprise held only for a moment before I shook off the memory. It was something I had heard only a few times before, but could still recall with startling clarity. I suppose you don't forget such an angelic sound when it bubbles forth from the depths of your mind.

Even thinking about her now makes me feel awful. That's a really vague description, but there's no other way to put it. Thinking of the former "vacuum cleaner salesman" (I still can't believe I used that analogy) that had taken up residence in my head summoned forth a wave of mixed emotions. For a guy like me, it was impossible to sort out the feelings.

_I would like to think I have been both more helpful and infinitely more courteous than such an individual._

Lasciel, a fallen angel of the Order of the Blackened Denarius, also known as the Seducer, the Webweaver, and the Temptress; under that name, the hellish being had corrupted countless mortals and bent them to her will to commit atrocious acts. Even thinking of that group of twisted demons incited a rage within me. I had seen the souls of those ensnared by the Order, and could only describe what I felt as hate (and fear, for myself and others, but I didn't like to let other people know that part).

Looking at my emotions like that, it was simple. There should be no conflict inside me. Yet my interactions with Lasciel consisted all of a drive's worth of whispers and then a two-foot hole in the ground.

_Do I merit an affectionate nickname now?_

Lash – now she was a different story. Technically, she was only a shadow of the temptress left in my brain after I sealed the silver coin Lasciel inhabited underground. Somehow, she ended up becoming so much more.

You see, some might call me a chauvinistic Neanderthal but I have a problem when women are hurting. That little tidbit had gotten me into more trouble then I had ever wanted; all it takes is one crying woman asking for help to send me off into perilous danger. Lash might have only been a shadow, but she was the shadow of a female dammit. She was a shadow which had talked with my subconscious, which had thought she had no free will of her own, which had helped me even when I outright insulted her.

_But you would be alive!_

She was a person that had sacrificed her life to save mine.

Sometimes, I thought about the what-ifs. What if I had prepared myself more thoroughly? What if I had conserved more of my energy during the battle? What if I had listened to her advice?

_Harry, just take the coin. P-please._

It was stupid to think like that. I would never submit myself to the whims of a fallen angel, even if I faced death. Hell's Bells, I had been in enough life-threatening situations to know that. But those irrational thoughts still plagued me.

I couldn't help it. A woman died for me, and I failed to save her.

_Fascinating._

I would never see her again, in that pure white tunic of hers. I would never see those deep blue eyes, or hear the genuine emotions in her quiet voice again. Never again would I see her glorious smile, which felt so much like the rising sun.

_It is my choice. Listen to me._

I'd probably never speak Ancient Sumerian again either, or have a hot shower (she never stopped, even though I told her only once) in my own apartment.

_Why do you continue to be so stubborn about this, my host?_

The emotions rolled about in me, crashing and breaking like waves on the sea. Despite what Bob might have thought, it wasn't as easy as losing a bit of my replaceable soul. It wasn't as simple as some artificial creation becoming deconstructed.

I might never figure out exactly what the shadow of a fallen angel truly meant to me.

Even thinking about the memories for the rest of my life might never organize my emotions. So really, it wouldn't help by obsessing over them like this.

_As you wish._

I would just have to deal with it, to hold on to everything even if it never made any sense. I suppose learning how to deal with the cold showers once more was a good start.

_I was merely helping. I…can't write original music anymore. I haven't made any music in ages. I just…helped the music you heard in your thoughts get out through your fingers._

Sitting down and playing the guitar felt like a decent next step.

_Everything I can, dear host._

Crying wasn't.

* * *

><p>AN: A drabble about everybody's favorite fallen angel.<p>

Honestly, I was fairly disappointed with how little interaction Harry had with Lash. With such a big plot point, and how much of an effect Lasciel was having, she got relatively little screen time; which is disappointing, since I loved her character (can't wait for her reappearance – c'mon Butcher).

As far as this little 'fic goes, it's sort of my take right at the ending of White Night. It's difficult to say where Harry's feelings on his little spiritual advisor are, but I figure they'd be pretty complex. He might've hated Lasciel, but he worked so hard to redeem Lash. We get a little view into his mind with the few lines of description plus the guitar playing at the end (and of course all the other times they interacted) so I tried to extrapolate that information into this. This 'fic could also take place a bit later, even a few months ahead. The timing doesn't have that much of an importance.

I hope you enjoyed reading, please leave a comment at the door. Thank you!


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